


One of the Two Is Not Like the Other

by prettyoddmoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Delachang, Ballroom Dancing, Boys In Love, Dancing, Fluff, Fred is an idiot in love, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Kitchens, House Elves, M/M, Pining, Yule Ball (Harry Potter), dance lessons, fredric - Freeform, infinite softness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyoddmoon/pseuds/prettyoddmoon
Summary: Now that his longtime crush Cedric Diggory has been selected as one of the Triwizard Tournament champions and the oh-so-anticipated Yule Ball is right around the corner, Fred Weasley is bound to overcome his painfully out-of-character fear and hesitation at last and... finally bloody commit.“I was wondering if you'd do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball. Rumour has it: I'm a magnificent dancer. Why not find out for yourself?”“Why, I thought you'd already asked Angelina Johnson.”
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Fred Weasley, fredric
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Yellow or Purple?

**Author's Note:**

> hi, hello! have fun reading! <3  
> chapter summary: fred is nervous. everyone's kind of annoyed with him. cedric finds it cute. backstory, a little action, a little humour.

“The Hogwarts champion,” bellowed Professor Dumbledore, burnt frazzle of paper clutched in his hand as he read off of it, “is _Cedric Diggory!_ ”

Momentarily, each and every single House table roared with glee and jubilance. Most clapped vigorously, others whistled with all the might they possessed, some chanted the renowned champion's name. Dumbledore beamed at the exhilarated faces, combing the crowd and picking the golden-haired boy out of it, consequently watching along as he rose from his seat with a pleased, yet all the while humble grin, fellow Hufflepuffs rocketing into the air around him and patting him on the back or simply clinging onto him and bouncing up and down as though on some kind of trampoline.

Seated somewhere at the length of the Gryffindor table, Fred Weasley allowed himself a slightly more enthusiastic applause than necessary, therefore eliciting a snide snort from his twin right beside him. Too elated to notice, his gaze remained fixed on the sixth-year, a genuine smile frozen in place atop his long face.

“Lovestruck nutter,” muttered Ginny with a smirk, her remark drowning in the blare of acclaim, voices, and howls, thus saving herself the trouble of hearing _You're one to talk!_ had Fred actually picked up on it.

This shared elation amongst the students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang didn't hold for that long, as we know, since mere moments later, the Goblet of Fire would spit out a in a not-so-traditional way fourth Triwizard Tournament champion – Harry James Potter himself – but this is up to a different story to tell...

* * *

“I'm shitting bricks, George, I really am,” declared Fred, gaze focused on his twin brother. The morning after the champion draft, he found himself seated on one of the hypercomfortable puffy chairs of prideful crimson in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by his very own support group – an exceedingly sleepy Ron still in his white-and-teal-striped pyjama, threatening to topple over at any given moment, Ginny, pushing the borderline-sleeping-beauty off of her shoulder with the slightest of disgust and bearing the look of someone utterly done with whatever they were involved in, George, who by now should've had mastered a somersault with his eyeballs due to the constant eye-rolling, and Lee Jordan, who was about as eager to give love advice at seven in the morning as Snape would be eager to award students with a heartfelt smile. Harry, still shaken by the incident of the night before, was being consoled on the other end of the common room by Hermione, who shot curious peeks to the aforementioned ensemble from time to time.

“Thestral's hooves, Fred, just _do it,_ ” groaned George in frustration. “It's not like you're bloody _proposing_ to the chap, you're congratulating him on the championship.”

“I know, I know, but–”

“ _We've never even talked properly before, what if he thinks I'm a nutcase?_ ” Ginny mimicked her older brother's deep voice, impressively setting her own a few notes lower. While at it, she was once again forced to nudge Ron aside as he was just about to settle atop her shoulder for a snooze. “It's not a question of _what if_ , Fred – you'll remain a nutcase no matter the outcome. But to have an outcome in the first place, you just need to give it a bloody try.”

Before the boy could even open his mouth to say something in protest, Lee threw in his two sickles, “It's just a friendly gesture, after all, you've played against each other a dozen of times – you're not complete strangers! I say do it, or at least stop bugging us about it. Seriously, Fred, with all the gammon we pull I thought you'd have a pair on you.”

“Clearly not in the love department,” sighed Ginny, causing Ron to issue an affirmative, yet weary _Uh-huh_ thereat.

Yes, they played together from time to time. Quidditch was the precise reason the two even knew of one another's existence – no, that's a lie. Not so fast. With Amos Diggory – Cedric's father – being his own dad's colleague and good friend, Fred would be lying if he said he first came across Cedric on the field, while, in reality, he had known the honey-haired Hufflepuff-to-be long before he even held a Beater's bat – one of many friendly dinners with his family served as the origin of their ~~friend~~ acquaintanceship.

Fred admittedly didn't think much of the soft-spoken, pink-lipped boy back then. It goes without saying he was far too young and far too distracted. Attending Hogwarts was when things really started simmering: Diggory had joined the Hufflepuff Quidditch team in his second year, and George, being in his first, fell mesmerised by his brilliant Seeker abilities ever since the first Quidditch match he'd laid eyes on at Hogwarts. Out of the very few things he remembered well, he could still recall that day, vividness and all, as he and George – several inches shorter than they were now – lolloped up to the pitch for their first Hogwarts Quidditch viewing ever: Hufflepuff against Ravenclaw. That, simultaneously, had been Cedric's first official outing as a Quidditch Seeker, and he proved himself worthy of his position by exceeding all expectations and catching the Golden Snitch within the first thirty minutes of the match. The scoreboard shuddered to reveal a whopping account of 30 to 180, and ever since that day, Fred couldn't keep his eyes off of the effortlessly handsome, self-aware yet humble boy – first thinking it was out of jealousy-diluted adoration of his skills, soon realising there was a... _slightly_ different reason.

Years of gawking and lingering followed, with Fred not acting upon his feelings not out of reluctance but rather out of ignorance – _it'd be better off bit back_ , he thought – after all, Cedric was a family friend's son, and very obviously a _boy_. But was it wrong to feel this way towards him?

 _“Goodness,_ no _,” George had exhaled with relief, palming his own forehead. “Big deal. Blimey, Fred, I damn near thought you'd caught some sort of disease.”_

That had occurred roughly a year prior, when Fred finally decided to come clean about his lovelorn troubles to the person he relied most on in the whole entire world – his twin brother. Obviously, the amount of dread and terror he carried within his heart in fear of not getting accepted by someone so singularly close to him weighed him down more and more each day, and as he spilled his guts, it was as though the plug of his bathtub of sorrow had finally been pulled, and all the concern and anxiety flowed away at once.

 _“Thank Merlin,” he had squeezed out in response, being able to breathe freely for the first time in forever._ “I _damn near thought you'd dub me freak.”_

_“And why on earth would I do that?” George had mewled, offended by his brother's claim. “There are far worse things out there than you being whipped for pretty boy Diggory, Fred, Merlin knows he's worth it. The only thing I'm concerned about is whether I will be wearing yellow or purple to the wedding; both do look mighty nice on me.”_

* * *

Fred ended up approaching Cedric on that very same day – if due to a sudden rush of confidence or the bullying performed unto him just hours prior, he didn't know. He caught up to the boy and two accompanying Hufflepuffs on their way to Charms, discarding of the company of George and Lee for the time being – prohibiting them from surveilling the situation in any way (spoiler alert: they did it anyway) – and asked to speak to him for a moment, just a tad out of breath. Internally, he already ticked off one item on the list of things that could potentially contribute to the ordeal going south: Quickened breath due to jogging up to Cedric. Check.

“Of course, Fred,” the Hufflepuff spoke, having twirled around, and the corner of his mouth perked ever so slightly. For some unknown reason, his gaze was focused on Fred's neck instead of his eyes, but that didn't alert the boy in any way, as his sole focus lay on not having his tongue twist and tie in a bow.

He scoffed a little, “I, er– good job on making the Triwizard, yeah. That's truly bonkers. You'll do great, you will.” He scratched his ear, attempted smile more resembling a frown, and only _then_ did he notice the Hufflepuff's eyes on his neck. They flickered up to meet his own in an instant, and Cedric presented Fred with a triumphant, million-galleon smile.

“Thank you, Fred!” something about the boy's voice and the way he pronounced _Fred_ felt like home: like the comfort of hand-knitted jumpers and scarves, like the sizzling of breakfast being cooked downstairs, like the long-awaited hug from a distant family member dropping by, like the sultriness of tea as it swirls its way into one's stomach, like basking in the comfort of your own bed in the morning. Like all that, but better.

“Nevermind, nevermind,” the words poured out about as unnaturally as it could get, “I'll see you around, then.”

“Yes, yes, you will,” Cedric let out a small laugh, but not one that indicated taunt or poked fun at Fred's statement; on the complete opposite – it bore so much appreciation that it was sincerely astounding the taller Gryffindor didn't pick up on any of it.

After that had been said, Fred watched the trio of Hufflepuffs turn on their heel and proceed their journey to the classroom on the third floor. They didn't seem to whisper to one another, nor laugh, nor react in any way, really – that must've been a good sign. Thus, that box remained unticked. Fred lingered in place for a blink of an eye, digesting what had just occurred.

_Yes, he had spoken to him. Yes, it was a bit awkward. Yes, the nervousness was painfully noticeable. Yes, he had made a fool of himself. Did he, though? He probably did. Or did he?_

“Fred, mate, this is coming from a place of pure love for you, but that was a rotting load of codswallop.”

Suddenly, the two frames – one equally as tall and the other significantly shorter – had emerged by his side. Ignoring the fact the pair had listened in despite the inquiry, Fred sighed, “I know.”

* * *

“George, I'm–”

“If you say you're shitting bricks one more time, I'll come up with a spell that will make it a reality,” groused Fred's reflection with a taunting mien.

It was two evenings after the auspicious Yule Ball had been announced – and while the fireplace crackled away in the background with not a single care in the world, Fred, unable to relate in any way, confided in a familiar assembly. This time around, Ron had been more attentive (although significantly more bent out of shape), and everyone else generally more annoyed. Except for Harry and Hermione, who had newly joined, and found themselves not having heard too much of the lovesick ramble (yet).

“All right, mate, at this point, it feels like we're pulling teeth, so listen,” George leaned in, his hands intertwining in his lap. “We've been through this with the congratulation situation–” he leered at the rhyme “–and as bollocks as it was–”

“It was _just_ fine,” assured Hermione with an apprehensive look, not sure whether the words she had spoken had been truthful for probably the first time in her life. She couldn't possibly know, but making Fred feel better in this situation would give him a desirable confidence boost he'd so desperately need for his oncoming mission – granted he'd go through with it, surely.

“ _As bollocks as it was,_ ” George pressed on after shooting Hermione a gaze of disapproval, “he liked the gesture. Simply _do it_. This time you just, er, have to go for it less... nervously. Diggory, out of all people, wouldn't bite.”

“I wouldn't be so certain,” giggled Ginny, hugging her folded legs seated atop one of the armchairs (this time, she wanted to make sure no drowsy individual would have the opportunity to conk out on her). “He _does_ remind me of a vampire sometimes. Under certain lighting, anyway.”

An unnerving image conjured by Fred's brain emerged in front of his eyes: A smiling Cedric, glare fixated on his very own neck.

Obviously, Cedric wasn't a vampire. _That_ Fred knew. But what in the world did staring at someone's neck instead of their eyes entail? Out of all non-verbal communication techniques Fred had ever heard of – such as looking in between someone's eyes for confidence or rather at their lips to make your romantic interest known – that one was singular. He found himself pondering, yet decided not to voice his concern. There _had_ to be a valid reason behind it, _right?_

“Okay, I have an idea,” declared Lee, clapping his palms together and rubbing them against one another. Fred focused his attention on his friend, as did the rest of the group, and even the ones less interested in the subject matter. “I hate to go to the lengths of doing this, but at this point, I don't see another option. It's simple,” he averted his gaze to look directly at Fred, “if you don't ask Cedric out to the Yule Ball yourself, we might as well have to do it for you, mate.”

“Now _that's_ utter rubbish,” groaned Hermione.

“But not impossible, is it?” Lee eyeballed the girl, nodding towards the direction of where George was slumped in an armchair as though he were a retired Mafia boss.

“I'm not saying it's impossible, Lee, I'm saying that it's not right. It's for Fred to do and Fred only. You cannot do that, not as long as you consider him a friend of yours.”

“Er, I'm still here, y'know,” reminded Fred. “Besides, I hate the idea, no matter who'll do it. I don't even think he's– _you know_ , into me. _Into boys._ For all I know, he's going out with Cho Chang and asking him out to the Yule Ball will be the embarrassment of my life.”

“Oh, _don't be ridiculous,_ ” Hermione piped up, voice soothing yet irked all at the same time. “Cho has an eye for Fleur, everyone knows that.”

Ginny agreed. “Yeah, she, unlike someone, managed to get over herself and invited Fleur to the ball. And what do you know? She said yes.”

Fred's eyes widened; if not with surprise, then with hope. “ _She did?_ ” In response, his only sister remained silent, but rolled her eyes and shook her head in a manner that equalled _Duh_.

“Well, that still doesn't mean he'll say yes.”

“Fred, you'll never know if you don't at least _try_ ,” it was finally Harry's turn to voice his thoughts. He dragged the last word out for emphasis, wondering where Fred's jester side was going every time he touched upon the subject of Cedric. Hiding within the depths of his brain, probably; to no blame. Who wouldn't?

Fred took the boy into consideration. Sure, it would most definitely be worth a try. For all Fred knew within the profoundest depths of his heart, his pugnacious spirit and jester nature wanted him to go out all the way, pull out all the stops, and start a fire (not literally... probably) – with fireworks, sparkles, explosions, music, confetti, magic, magic, _magic_. He could conjure up a cheesy, yet effective pun into the air in a vibrant, lambent font – something along the lines of _Yule go to the Ball with me, right?_ – and call it a day as the Hufflepuff toppled into his arms with multiple _Yes_ ses tumbling down his lips, but...

“Nah. Not worth it. He must've been long asked out by now, anyway.” Bummer.

“All right, now you're just coming up with excuses to get out of it,” Ron noted.

“Says the lad who doesn't have the courage to ask someone he oh-so-much fancies out, either,” laughed George, bouncing his leg, which was by now swung over one side of the armchair he was slumped into, shooting an ambiguous side-eye towards Hermione – Ron's ears prickled with a helpless blush – who solemnly missed the gesture. Or pretended to, at least. “Seriously, is that a Weasley thing? Then I surely must be adopted.”

Upon the remark, the ensemble roared with heartfelt laughter – it was nice to ease the tension of seriousness at last.

* * *

“Cedric! _Cedric!_ Wait up!”

A familiar voice tore through the tranquil silence of the courtyard, and Cedric, having smiled to himself in secret, turned around in an instant to face his counterpart. He saw the taller flame of red hair approach him, and happily anticipated the direction this conversation would take.

As soon as the Weasley was stood before him in all his six-foot-four glory, the Hufflepuff diverted his gaze towards his neck almost on cue. Raising an eyebrow, he smiled a not too conspicuous smile, redirecting his eyes back up towards the Gryffindor.

Sending his hand through the smooth waves of copper, he spoke, “I was wondering if you'd do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball. Rumour has it: I'm a magnificent dancer. Why not find out for yourself?”

Cedric merely cackled, readjusting the bag strap around his shoulder and latching onto it with his hand. “Why, I thought you'd already asked Angelina Johnson, _George._ ”

The Weasley's – _George's_ – eyes flew open in an instant. He gaped at the sixth-year before him, unable to find words. _How in the world had he known? How in the world had he seen right through him? How in the world–_

“I– er– _what?!_ ”

“You have a great day, _George_. I won't tell your date you'd almost bailed on her to go with me, promise,” Cedric flashed the majority of his teeth to the taller boy in one last smile before he'd turned on his heel and strolled away, leaving George dumbfounded and questioning every aspect of his life all of a sudden.

So, the plan didn't work.

Emerging out of a row of bushes nearby came a saucer-eyed Lee Jordan, mouth hung agape and moving towards his best friend in trudging movements. “How–?” he blurted out, his eyes joining George's in following the black-and-gold-clad figure as it disappeared into the distance.

“No bloody clue.”

* * *

The following day after that encounter – although unbeknownst to him – the real Fred found himself slouched on a bench at the Gryffindor table in the middle of lunch. The nearing Christmas cheer that had by now spread across the halls and settled within most students' hearts seemed to have eluded Fred; appetiteless and instead sated with a nagging sense of despair, his eyes swirled circles around his empty plate as he listened to everyone around him dig into their individual meals backed by a rich palette of chomping, smacking and munching. A shame he couldn't hear the eye rolls.

“Wou'e ah i'iot,” determined Ron from behind a barrier of sausage and mash. He eyed his brother for a moment, all the while scooping spoonfuls of brown-and-beige mush into his mouth. Fred would've been surprised at the amount of room it provided had he not grown up with the bloke.

Lee and George seemed strangely distant, if not completely distraught. While, as was usual, the two along with Fred served as the main entertainers of lunchtime, _that_ had subtly changed. The tranquility was somehow freeing, but odd to say the least.

Ginny issued a guttural groan, “Oh, _come_ on!” Due to the unfamiliar silence that had covered the Gryffindor table as though an unimaginably large duvet, she had attracted just a few pairs of eyes too many. That didn't seem to bother the girl. “Seriously? We're going to act like somebody died _just_ because some of us are too chicken to act upon their feelings and wants? That's bollocks. Man up.”

“You're one to talk,” retorted Fred, dragging out his voice out of weariness and annoyance. “Can't even attend the bloody thing.”

On one end of the table, Neville nearly choked, but managed to get away with a not-so-subtle cough.

The ginger-haired girl merely gifted him a side-eye, continuing, “Don't jump to conclusions, Fred. Anyhow, you have to fish out your golden boy before it's too late. I think it goes without saying he might be a plentily desired target.”

Harry promptly swallowed a serving of kidney pie, politely covering his mouth with his hand as he contributed to the debate, “He's already turned down two girls – an unknown Beauxbatons and a seventh-year Slytherin called Anessa. He, er, told me that.”

And _George_ , but Harry didn't quite know that. Said Weasley and Lee exchanged glances.

At once, Fred's eyebrows leapt up and his face melted into a vague grin. “ _He did?_ ” His tone was a little too vanilla to ever think he'd misunderstood or doubted the claim.

“ _Shut it!_ ” hissed Ginny with her stunned gaze settling behind Fred's lanky frame. “He's coming right now.”

“He– what–”

Eyes wide, the girl whisper-shouted, “ _Shut. It._ ”

Before Fred could even gather a glob of thought, a voice as though molten chocolate had come to word behind his back. “ _Fred?_ ”

The young man twisted around in his seat in a heartbeat, intent on leaping up but somehow remaining seated, with his greatest object of affection stood before him. Cedric beamed down at the boy in all his Hufflepuff glory, misty grey eyes staying true to their usual fashion – lingering just below Fred's jawline. As the Weasley juggled with words to say, the other proceeded, “Would you be interested in going to the Yule Ball as my date?”

Fred's throat clogged up with either words he'd meant to say or screams of jubilance he'd strived to set free. Gathering all of the courage he had left in his fist with all his might, he answered, “I would love to, Cedric.” He was sure the words he had spoken had never come out of his mouth before in his life.

“Brilliant,” smiled the Hufflepuff. His eyes had by then plateaued upon Fred's again. “I shall see you in the Transfiguration classroom tomorrow at eight, then. For, er... dance practice. We need to rehearse the opening dance champions do at the beginning of the ball, as the custom is. Harry will be there, too–” he shot the bespectacled boy a brief glare “–oh, and... don't forget Professor McGonagall is rather stringent about punctuality.”

Oh, _right_. And Fred had almost forgotten Cedric _fucking_ Diggory was the chosen Hogwarts champion to partake in the Triwizard Tournament (alongside Harry, of course). Whew.

“Er, dancing, _right_ ,” gaped Fred, more awestruck than reluctant. He nodded, “I'll be there.”

“It's a date, then. I'm looking forward,” lilted Cedric. Having said that, he took a short glance at the rest of the silent-fallen Gryffindors, thereupon raising his palm in a way of saying goodbye. “I'll see you lot around.”

A swift _Cheerio!_ rolled off Ginny's tongue – since everyone else appeared to have swallowed theirs, it seemed as though she was the only one capable to speak. It did look a bit odd, but Cedric put few mind to it, merely drinking in Fred's cutely confused glare, gifting the crowd with one last blinding grin and taking off back towards his own table (which bore a handful of gawking fellow Hufflepuffs – there was quite the audience to the ordeal).

 _It's a date, then._ Fred couldn't believe it; Cedric's words bounced back and forth within his skull resembling a myriad of grass-green tennis balls. _It's a date, then._

_It's a date, then._


	2. Swirlyscarlet, Dotteddaffodil, Pricklypink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fred and cedric take dance lessons. mcgonagall surprises everyone. some bonding, some cuteness, two idiots in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO, i didn't forget about this fic! it took me a lot longer to finish chapter two than i would like to admit, but i promise to give you the last chapter very soon. i hope you all have a wonderful year and find positive things to leave behind in this one! <3

Upon Fred and Cedric's arrival in the Transfiguration classroom, a subtle wave of surprise swooped over them at the realisation that the habitual array of desks and chairs usually cluttering the well-lit room had all disappeared. The space around them was unfamiliarly empty, with just the bare, rough floor, that has seen generations upon generations of wixen come and go, beneath their feet. Professor McGonagall had already been waiting, stood straight as a pole in the middle of the room. An ancient, yet nevertheless fancy-looking phonograph had been resting propped up on a pedestal-like stand, its patchy golden horn glistening in the generous light of a small chandelier above. Since it had already been eight in the evening, and shortly before Christmas, too, there was no hope of seeing the gilded object glare in a setting of natural lighting; Fred found that somewhat melancholy.

“Mister Weasley, Mister Diggory, welcome,” greeted their teacher, her mien remaining neutral and unmoved. She appeared to bear fewer wrinkles on her face that day, or so it seemed to Fred, and he caught himself wondering whether she had tied her hair in a bun of such tightness it managed to drag her skin back and smoothen it out as a result. “You are the first ones to arrive, as you can see. We shall wait on the rest and proceed. You may take a desired spot alongside the wall in the meantime.”

Having done as they were told, Fred and Cedric began waiting, stood side by side. The rest, thankfully, wasn't long in coming, as the bare silence had kindled an unpleasant ringing in the Weasley's ears – they weren't used to such lack of havoc, or any type of tranquility, whatsoever. In no time, more pairs poured into the classroom: First Fleur Delacour, a tall, blonde beauty with a shorter, but not any less dazzling Cho Chang by her side, then Viktor Krum, who to both Fred's surprise and disappointment had none other than Hermione clutched to his arm, and, finally, Harry, who had managed to snag himself a date at last – Parvati Patil from his year, who looked a little too excited than necessary.

“Very well, children, very well,” spoke Professor McGonagall as soon as Harry had dusted himself down after nearly tripping over the threshold of the classroom. She turned to the phonograph to her left and flicked her wand with, seemingly, the most ease in the world, causing the needle to lift (Fred noted to himself how he'd never seen a needle rise in such an elegant way before) and sending it onto its circular course. At once, a soft, concert-flute-heavy melody flowed out of the golden horn; the group of teenagers gaped in astonishment as the notes diffused into the room. The music swirled and wrapped around them like a sort of songful vine, and as though by magic, one was trapped by the desire of starting to dance. Technically, it _could've_ been a magical effect performed unto the record, but Fred preferred to stick to the more romantic explanation: the simple temptation of music.

“Step forward,” instructed the professor, taking a handful of steps backwards herself. The pedestal with the serenading phonograph atop it followed suit, scooting in the same direction. “Gentlemen, take your lady's right hand in your left, and allow your right to settle on her waist. Ladies, you may grasp either your gentleman's shoulder or biceps; whichever you deem more comfortable. As for Misses Delacour and Chang and Messeurs Weasley and Diggory, I would advise the taller partner to assume the position of the gentleman, respectively. It _does_ come easier, but, surely, you may decide for yourself.”

Fred and Cedric exchanged glances; with the Weasley standing an astonishing six-foot-four, it went without saying he towered over pretty much everyone. Cedric ranked a few inches below him, and, going off of McGonagall's advice, Fred questioned, “D'you mind?”

Cedric's face split in a wide grin, and he shook his head no. “Of course not, Freddie.” _Freddie_. Something in the pit of Fred's stomach took a leap, toppled, or twisted – he couldn't tell, really, for all he knew it was all of those at once, and as a helpless blush prickled at his cheeks, he mirrored the grin oh-so-graciously presented to him. Although only a sheer whisper, Cedric's previous words appeared as the loudest sound in the room – drowning out the flowy composition, Fleur's smitten giggle, and the chain of apologies pouring out of Harry's mouth after wrongfully clutching Parvati's left hand (or something in that genre).

The Hufflepuff took it upon himself to place his hand atop Fred's shoulder – pulling him closer in the process, thereupon causing the Gryffindor's breath to hitch. In no time, Fred's gentle, bigger hand had caught Cedric's, and as they stood there, having scrambled into the needed position, the Weasley found it difficult not to gaze into his counterpart's eyes for a little. The grey irises he stared into resembled a gemstone of some kind; an agate? Hematite? Fred had never been good with crystals. Why not refer to them as they look instead of arty, elusive names – swirlyscarlet, dotteddaffodil, pricklypink? That would certainly make more sense.

Professor McGonagall's determined voice jolted Fred out of his jewel-infested daydream, “All right, then. We shall learn the steps now...” Beneath her breath, the Weasley heard his teacher mutter _Merlin give me strength_ , but it very well could've been a fruit of his imagination, like a gust of wind outside the tall, diamond-gridded windows – the oncoming winter promised to be severe.

* * *

Contrary to popular, and, evidently, their teacher's belief, learning the routine turned out to be not _that_ big of a challenge. Sure, uncertainty prowled about during the first couple of attempts, but soon enough, all four couples eased into the process. Some more than others, obviously, but everyone appeared to have gotten the general gist, nevertheless. Professor McGonagall was delighted, yes, _delighted_ – said delight originated from admiration, which, in its turn, originated from astonishment. With her palms pressed against one another and clutched close to her chest, she watched her students spin and step and wind and dance with bated breath, although noting to herself that Harry's ball slippers weren't allowed to have shoelaces _under any circumstances_. If he'd have to go back on his knees to tie said laces one more time, she would've fired a permanent sticking charm at them.

All things considered, all pairs performed the best they could. Yet the couple that somehow stood out from the rest was, sure enough, Fred Weasley and Cedric Diggory. Following them with one's eyes was as though watching a final puzzle piece fall into place, the last brush stroke finalising an eternal piece of art, a fairytale winding into conclusion. An aura of mysterious rapture wafted around them, and as they moved, smooth as satin and serene as a small, unperturbed stream somewhere high up in the mountains, Professor McGonagall deemed the partnership choice most fortunate. It almost seemed like Fred and Cedric were forged to dance together; an arrangement established someplace far from earth centuries upon centuries before the two were even born.

The woman readjusted the pointy witch's hat atop her head, and, cleared her throat with a subtle clap. At once, each duo stopped in its tracks, closely followed by the music, which blossomed to find a consequent end. McGonagall must've known the composition well.

“I'm afraid it has gotten rather late, but I nevertheless thank you for your presence,” the teacher announced with eight pairs of eyes fixated on her. “Same place, same hour, two days' time. Good night.”

Harry was the first one to scram, forgetting about his partner entirely, and Parvati was forced to trudge along with a spike of annoyance. To be fair, the fourth-year had a _lot_ of things on his mind, way more troubling than dance lessons, anyway. Viktor led Hermione away, a careful palm resting on her lower back – Fred was presented with an image of an enraged Ron, pink-eared and frowning at the news, in his mind's eye.

“Diggory, Weasley, Chang, Delacour, do stay for a moment.”

Fred froze, exchanging sudden glances with Cedric. All four twirled around, and the Hufflepuff readjusted his tie in a way that prompted it was too tight and applying pressure to his throat all of a sudden. What in the world would McGonagall need them to stay behind for? Fred feared for the worst – he hadn't been his optimistic self for a while now, and the realisation that the four of them hadn't picked the most traditional sex as a partner hit him in the chest like a well-aimed jinx. He suspected what she would have to say, and he didn't want to hear any of it. Not after he spent an hour and a half dancing with – possibly – the love of his life. _Not after the dance caused him to fall even harder._ And Fred, frankly, wasn't the only one to have come to the unfortunate conclusion – as he peeked around, he drank in Fleur's sour expression (it nevertheless remained completely and entirely beautiful), Cho's slightly gaped mouth and furrowed eyebrows, and, at long last, Cedric's befuddled mien full of expectation.

Unexpectantly, the teacher beamed. “You make wonderful pairings, my dears. You simply glow from within with utmost grace and talent – I thank you for your courage and boldness. I am sure my wife would love to hear about the palette of diversity at the upcoming Yule Ball, especially on account of the champions.”

 _Wife_.

A weight of alleviation immediately lifted from everyone's hearts, and it was as though the four exhaled in relief all at the same time.

Cho was the first to express her gratitude in that sugary voice of hers, “Thank you, professor.” The rest agreed by nodding or retorting the same – there was a myriad of words each and every single one of them intended to say, but they had found themselves in a state of awe that prevented any further sentences from spilling.

“And do not _ever_ forget,” McGonagall followed up shortly after. The genuine smile remained upon her face, which the three Hogwarts students – who happened to know the teacher well – deemed unusual, but cordially so. “Nothing real can be threatened. Ever.”

The students took her statement into consideration, pondering over the words. Thus, the classroom stood in prompt, yet comfortable silence. It appeared somehow soothing, since the once fearful tension had been replaced by a loving and accepting atmosphere. Fred's heart filled with joy, joy in the form of liquid gold or molten chocolate or smouldering tea, and didn't bother suppressing the signature silly, wide grin.

“All right, all right; I shall see some of you in Transfiguration tomorrow, and the day after that for yet another bit of practice. Be on your way,” she dismissed. Her smile had faltered, yet not entirely, and she waved the quartet off with a hidden tinge of pride. Cedric sensed some of it, basking in the warm feeling of recognition, while Fred put few mind to it due to being a little too busy trying to walk in step with the Hufflepuff. Unbeknownst to him, Cedric slowed his pace down in order to make it easier for him.

Having strolled out of the classroom, the two had assumed a rather weary speed as to lose the two girls – Fleur and Cho, who pranced into the emptiness of the Hogwarts halls as though a pair of bees on their way to pollinate a bed of flowers – and have a speck of time for themselves. Curfew wasn't about to swoop in for another half hour, and as though an unspoken rule, the two wordlessly decided to make the journey in each other's presence last for as long as they could.

“I'll see you to your common room,” announced Fred, not because it was further away than the Gryffindor tower (although that came as a nice bonus), but rather out of chivalry. And, of course, to be given the knowledge his golden-haired Yule Ball date wasn't roaming the castle halls all on his own. Not like Fred didn't trust him with the task – the bloke was a Triwizard champion, after all – but it _would_ provide him with a sense of peace. A vein of responsibility pumped blood of a rather special kind through his body; blood that spread the initial need to protect Cedric at all costs throughout the entirety of his being. His arms urged to swoop the boy under their wings of shelter, his heart thumped along to the rhythm of the other's breathing, and his mouth promised to weave any lie or insult imaginable solely for the boy's sake.

He was in love. Very, very much so.

Cedric's voice was soft as he yielded assent, “Sounds good.” While, in secret, he desired for Fred to not only chaperone him there, but also _stay_ , (he would come up with some sly reasoning – to view the numerous overhanging potted plants, that, magically, never withered and flourished for years on end, and oh, please, the lemon couch that gave off the smell of fresh pastry and felt as though you were sitting on a ball of candyfloss) he couldn't quite seek the courage in himself to ask – possibly, for the first time in his life. Fred affected Cedric not any less than Cedric affected Fred; one of them was simply more capable of hiding the fact. Their feelings kneaded and shaped them to become the people they were meant to be.

As they descended the staircase to the kitchens, the air grew warmer and cosier by the second. Fred absolutely adored spending time down there, as he would always find someone to talk to – a working elf or two – and get richly fed with leftovers, as well. Now that he was significantly closer to Cedric, he had all the reasons to pay visits even more often; thereupon, a smile arose on his face. The Hufflepuff caught it, and, having mirrored the expression, questioned, “What is it?”

Giggling at nothing in particular, Fred promptly shook his head. “Nothing, just... thinking.”

By then, the two had already been stood at the foot of the staircase in the tall hall that both knew to be the kitchen. The air temperature smouldered with pleasant warmth, since the gigantic furnace had been burning bright in the late hours of the evening. All four house tables rested atop the stone floor, empty; shelves, sinks, pots and other kitchen attributes glowed in the rich yet dim orangey light. All lay in silence, full tranquility, except for the fire crackling away with all the peace the world had to offer. It was a little strange, Fred noted to himself, as the kitchens usually appeared more lively. Now, there was not a single soul in sight except for him and Cedric. The honey-haired boy rapidly picked up on his companion's bafflement.

“Oh, well, since the house-elves have thrice as much work to do due to recent circumstances, Dumbledore has set up a new regulation - lights out for all elves at nine. I assume they must've retreated to their chambers by now,” he explained, stepping forward and twirling around to face his counterpart as though a museum guide. Fred didn't mind; as long as Cedric spoke in that purely golden voice of his, he could never find himself objecting in any way.

He promptly tipped his head in a nod, “That makes sense, yeah.”

Craning around out of interest's sake, his eyes captured a certain tray of metal. It bore...

“ _Chelsea buns!_ Blimey!” there was no limit to the Weasley's pure glee as he exclaimed and pointed towards the second closest table to the wall; nearing the edge, a fancy salver rested atop the dark wooden surface. It bore one, two, three – Fred found it easier to count as he dashed towards them, more and more buns swimming into view with each greedy step – one too many of them to be able to count in a ravenous state. Cedric followed suit, an involuntary, but nevertheless admiring grin spreading across his face. The Gryffindor couldn't get any more handsomely silly if he tried, he caught himself thinking.

“This cannot be real...” he mumbled beneath his breath, lost in thought; thought filled with winged Chelsea buns and a certain individual wearing black-and-gold robes. The boy eyed the tray of pastry as though it were a shimmering pile of gold – or, in Fred's case, a wide variety of prank devices with enclosed detailed manuals and all imaginable outcomes and effects.

“Sure looks like it to me,” remarked Cedric. Fred twisted his head to the side, finding the youth standing right beside him. A spark kindled in his curious eyes that screamed _Mischief!_ and Cedric couldn't help but cling to the boy's upper arm with his hand in a reassuring matter as the spark grew into a playful crimson fire. “Shall we take some?”

The Weasley's eyebrows shot up in an instant. “Are you serious?”

Cedric merely giggled. “Yes, I am. I mean, everyone's left, and they'll probably dry out before the day is done. We _can_ delight in one each, you know; you do seem rather eager about it.”

If Fred's love for Cedric was held in a simmering pot of warm, syrupy substance of admiration, it had momentarily come to its unexpected peak – boiling over like milk, it erupted with utmost might, filling every nook and cranny of his lanky body with scorching molten gold. It was as though an artist had filled the mold that was his carcass with it in order to create a glorious golden statue of some kind. His intestines buzzed and his head appeared to have adopted a cuckoo clock – at once, it went off, the intrusive bird chirping one _He's the one_ after another. As Fred stood there, dumbfounded but only because he found his counterpart's remark outright astonishing, the same realisation raced through Cedric's mind.

“With pleasure,” smirked the Gryffindor, snatching up the two top buns and hopping up onto the table in an effortless leap. Cedric climbed atop it as well, sitting across from the ginger boy, legs crossed. Fred mirrored the position. Thereupon, he stretched out his arm and passed one of the buns unto the Hufflepuff, which the other, in his turn, accepted with a theatrical nod. Fred proceeded to raise his own up in the air, announcing, “Cheers!” He wondered whether it caused Cedric any pain to smile _that_ broadly for multiple minutes on end, and deemed it rather impressive. It suited him so well, too.

“Cheers,” replied the other boy, more joy in his tone than Fred himself had had to offer throughout the chain of days leading up to the moment he danced with Cedric for the very first time. He bumped his friend's pastry with his own, merely colliding with his pale fingers on accident; something tugged at the pit of his stomach.

Cedric watched as his counterpart delighted in a blissful bite, jamming his mouth with as much pastry as possible. For a moment, Fred paid an uncanny resemblance to a rodent of some kind, stuffing his cheeks in avid preparation to hibernate. After all, he _was_ a Weasley, and though weasels were no rodents and Cedric was quite sure of that, the connection nevertheless conjured a wide grin unto his face that was oh-so-handsomely illuminated by the citrusy gloom of the kitchen. Venturing into a morsel himself, the pleasant texture of the bun dissolved on the Hufflepuff's tongue and he indulged in the sweet taste with faint tart undertones. Amongst all the work house elves accomplished at Hogwarts daily, cooking and baking certainly ranked as the most delightful of all.

It didn't take the couple long until they had finished their individual rolls, though Fred had devoured the pastry significantly quicker – Cedric was left wondering whether the boy had grown fervently hungry or just ravened anything that swam his way by default.

“Sooo...” though the Gryffindor dragged the word out for emphasis, he realised halfway through how that was also a means to ponder upon what he was about to say, and, mainly _if_ he ought to even say it in the first place. His mouth spoke quicker than the evolvement of his thought process, “The second task.”

Fred truly didn't want to touch upon the rather scratchy subject, but he also felt like he needed to, as well. To somehow get it out of the way, almost. If the two of them intended to build a stronger friendship – maybe even a relationship one day – they couldn't go on disregarding the whole Triwizard situation, which also marked the most vital and important segment of Cedric's entire existence at that moment.

“Yeah,” replied Cedric, still chewing, but covering his mouth via the back of his palm. Having swallowed, he pressed on, “What about it?”

Asking him whether he had cracked the riddle of the golden egg would be on the stranger side of things, considering one of Cedric's grandest rivals, a tawny bloke named Harry Potter, was in Fred's house and also none other than his own brother's best friend. That wouldn't work whatsoever, and if it did, it surely wouldn't play into Fred's hands in any way – the Hufflepuff would certainly assume all of the previous efforts the Weasley had built were solely to pry the solution of the brain-teaser out of him. And he would be fatally wrong had he assumed that, as it wandered aeons away from the truth. Sure, Fred couldn't suppress nor deny his natural curiosity concerning the enigma, but that whole topic was dangerous ground as it was. He couldn't risk it; not when he had already gotten over himself ten times the amount he had ever deemed possible.

“Are you... nervous at all?” _Merlin_ , Fred, _of course_ he was. His life was at stake, of course he must've been freaking out inside at _all_ times. “Bollocks– strike that. I know you are, I mean, who wouldn't be in your place? Besides, I can hear the complaints of the paintings in our common room about all the pacing Harry does at night, and I cannot blame him, whatsoever. I just hope you're putting up with it better than the bloke is.”

Fred's words, once again, had lured a mellow chuckle out of the honey-haired boy before him. By the time he had finished his sentence, Cedric had already consumed his Chelsea bun entirely, and was preoccupied by dusting down his robes in order to get rid of any leftover crumbs (Fred had done the very same earlier, with the mere exception of having eaten those leftover crumbs in the aftermath of that).

“I suppose so,” he answered, voice soft, with the Gryffindor catching himself having missed it a bunch, even though he only hadn't gotten to hear it for approximately two minutes. “At least I haven't been able to witness any plants or succulents in my common room complain yet.”

“Fair enough; I struggle to believe they're jolly talkative,” concluded Fred.

Another hearty laugh. Fred could _so_ get used to that. “No, they're really not. They flog lazy students whiling away on the couches on occasion, but that is all.” At that remark, the ginger boy delighted in a hearty snort, which he assumed wasn't as attractive to the ear. Cedric didn't mind whatsoever, he never could.

“I'm bloody glad we don't have plants floating about our common room in that case,” he commented through a broad grin. “With all the dawdling us Gryffindors pull, we'd be sore all day long.”

“It's rather therapeutic,” chortled the golden boy, leaning forward just the slightest – enough to make Fred notice, but not quite enough to act upon anything. “And to address the task – you see, if I fail, I fail. Point-blank. I don't play to win, I'm sure you must've noticed, as you've played about a thousand games of Quidditch with me, but if I did, that would certainly be pretty cool.”

“Right?!” Fred could only agree. “That'd be bleeding bonkers!”

In response, Ced solely smiled and nodded, averting his eyes in... _shyness_. Yes, that's what that was. The Weasley picked up on it all right, despite not being the best at reading people by a long shot. It was almost as though the Hufflepuff was fighting a certain urge, frozen in the middle of making a decision, mentally debating and conflicted about _something_ within the comfort of his mind... Fred took the liberty of assuming what in the world that was. Thereupon, he lifted his freckled arm, placing his palm atop Cedric's, which had been resting on the table, with, seemingly, all the caution in the world. With absolutely zero hesitation, Diggory flipped his hand and interlocked it with Fred's. _That was it._ In no time, a pair of grey eyes leapt up to meet hopeful brown ones, and that event fell as the defining moment of the history of Fred and Cedric.

The honey-haired boy granted the bigger, paler palm an alleviated squeeze, and broke out in a hearty chuckle. Fred failed to withstand the desire to mirror it, and joined in, digging dimples into his freckle-peppered cheeks and gazing upon his counterpart as though he'd been the only light Fred had ever known. And though that wasn't entirely the truth, Diggory certainly found himself somewhere on the very top of that list.

“You know,” began Fred, voice lowered and much quieter than was characteristic of him. His cheeks smouldered with such heat his face might as well could've been buried in a bonfire, seared by embers, and that wasn't solely due to the usual fervity of the kitchens – nothing was cooking and hadn't been for hours. “I am really, _really_ excited to attend Yule with you,” he pressed on, with that sentence of his merely translating to _I very bloody fancy you, Cedric_. Finding tranquility in the setting, confidence filled the Weasley's body as though piercing rays of golden light that shone straight into his heart or a bouquet of courage spells fired at him at once. That was it. That was the moment. Cedric's soft, patient hands had been clutched in his, their bodies exchanging homey warmth, with their hearts aligning to beat in unison and eyes plateaued upon one another's. There were no more neccessary words to be shed, for every intention and feeling was clear as day: the love that flourished within Fred's stomach reflected in his mocha eyes and Cedric's not any less strong fondness grew more and more palpable through his touch as his fingertips sent tender waves of affection rushing through his counterpart.

No more words; actions instead.

Fred tilted his neck down, leaning forward. In response, the honey-haired boy across from him straightened his posture in an attempt to grow taller. Their eyes fell shut all at once, and time seemed to have stood still as they drifted closer and closer towards one another, with two teenage hearts thumping within their chests as though trying to rip their way free from their ribcages. The ginger's hot breath glided over Ced's lip, causing it to give a small quiver, and just as they bumped foreheads, the collision cushioned by the utter desire to lock lips–

“ _Who's there?_ ” a voice sharp as a needle tore through the air, being carried along the tall kitchen walls as an echo. There was a slight tremble to it that prompted the speaker was in a state of fear.

At once, as though a brick wall had been lifted between them, Fred and Cedric jolted away from each other with a shared gasp, palms breaking contact. Though their eyes leapt towards the origin of the sound, their lips remained slightly puckered from the kiss that was about to take place seconds prior.

A small creature swam into view from the distance, shrouded in citrucy shadow, yet very recognisably a house-elf, long fingers intertwined in front of its cloth-clad body and countenance – to put it lightly – horrified. Its massive, long ears had furled akin to stale leaves of cabbage and it walked as though it was about to face its inescapable demise. The Weasley issued a relieved – though not very positively so – breath, soothed by the fact it wasn't George and he wouldn't have to be sent to Azkaban for murder anytime soon.

“Er– Fred,” he responded, voice assuming a friendly tone so as not to terrify the poor elf further. “And Cedric.”

“Mister Fred Weasley, Sir?” questioned the creature in a feeble squeak, its paltry steps gaining in confidence.

The ginger nodded a little too enthusiastically – the energy and excitement that had gathered within his frame was overwhelming to bear. “Yes, yes.” By then, the elf had curiously jogged towards the pair, studying them with apple-sized eyes.

“But–” it shot the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff duo innocent glares, “it is past elf bedtime, Mister Weasley, Sir, and Mister Cedric, Sir. No food. Just the fire, Sir. Only the fire.”

“Oh yes, we were just, er...”

“...looking for a set of quills I dropped on the way to class this morning,” concluded Cedric, saving his taller counterpart the trouble of coming up with a wonky excuse by conceiving his own.

The creature took a brief moment to ponder. “But it is no use to search in the dark, Mister Cedric, Sir,” wondered the elf, its streaky eyebrows knitted, and long, silver hairs curtaining the green orbs. After another pause to collect its thoughts in which the elf batted its long, curly eyelashes a couple too many times, it continued, “You are welcome to visit in the morning after breakfast to look. Polly can help and make sure there are palmiers left for both of you when you find your q– qui– kilts.”

Cedric took it upon himself to lean in to the small creature, and, having put on one of his broad, sunshine-exuding smiles, responded, “Why, that is most kind of you, Polly.” He proceeded to extend his palm, which, a couple of minutes prior, had been in Fred's, and the elf gratefully wrapped its long, branch-like grey fingers around it. “You are one splendid companion.” All the while, the Weasley failed to divert his eyes from the Hufflepuff next to him – not like he wanted to, either. Even his side profile was perfect: handsomely straight nose, a pair of cloudy grey eyes directed at the elf and gazing with the utmost tenderness, and soft, rosy lips, _that could've ended up on his_.

They almost did... one day they would.

In response to Cedric, the house-elf flashed the faintest tint of a blush atop its wrinkly, ashy skin, and grinned, thereupon showcasing a row of teeth so tiny and yellow they resembled corn. “Thank you, Mister Cedric, Sir. Polly must go now. Polly must head to bed, Sir. Polly must wake early.”

“Goodnight, Polly,” he beamed in response. The elf was visibly smitten. Having issued one last squeak of gratitude, it hopped away, looking both as if running on hoat coals and prancing like a pony.

Immediately, the golden-haired boy turned back towards his counterpart. He didn't speak at first, but his mere expression mirrored regret – as though he were trying to apologize for the unintentional interruption of their kiss on behalf of the clueless elf.

The taller boy, in his turn, made the smart decision to veer off the topic. He promptly jumped off the heavy table with a slight thud, proposing his hand for Cedrid to take. “Can't believe I made you blatantly lie to a house-elf,” he chortled as the Hufflepuff accepted his palm and followed suit.

“Well, first of all, you didn't make me do anything,” corrected the Hufflepuff with a faint mischievous countenance as the pair set off towards the entrance to his common room. “That was my personal decision; besides, it isn't especially hard to do.”

“ _Fooling elves?_ ” he continued laughing, gaining enough courage at last to allow his digits to carefully linger around Ced's lower back, not particularly guiding him, instead solely letting him know he's there. Diggory didn't protest. “Merlin, I really am rubbing off on you, aren't I?”

“Perhaps,” shrugged the boy strolling next to him. “I do not mind, however.”

By then, the duo had arrived at the humongous round door of a similar type of wood barrels were made of. Two torches burned bright on either side of it, exuding just enough light to maintain the slightly dim atmosphere of the basement. At once, Cedric turned to Fred, his face splitting into a grin.

 _Be bold, Fred,_ he told himself.

“It was bloody daft with you today, Ced,” nodded the taller boy, drumming his feet against the tough ground in a somewhat nervous manner. Going in for another kiss, or at least attempting to do so, would be awkward, he recognised. “I'll see you around, yeah?”

 _Bold_.

“You bet,” agreed his counterpart, promptly reaching out and squeezing his bicep. Fred struggled not to flinch at the sudden, yet very gentle sensation. “I'll be wearing royal blue velvet to the ball, by the way... just in case you want to match.”

Fred's eyebrows furrowed – more in surprise than in confusion.

“Noted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will he do it? we shall find out...
> 
> sorry for blueballing you (not really) – next chapter will make up for it! ;)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading – do have a magnificent day! if i may indulge in a bit of self-advertisement, check out my twitter @/nobleregulus, pretty please <3


End file.
